Elusive (11 page)

From time to time as the lines became
diluted, sons and daughters of the two lines have married. Your
mother was the last direct descendent of Caena and your father’s
very distant cousin. Thus you are truly from both their lines, and
everything that would have belonged to Sòlas and Caena should now
be yours.

The letters came to me as your guardian
after your mother’s death. They are your story, dear Blair, your
history. Now they are yours. Generation after generation, giving
away to a time when you would be able to reclaim what is rightfully
yours, as Caena’s and Sòlas’s sole direct descendant.

Blair, the time is now. The heirs of
Macrath’s father, Mordag, still reside in the Castle. The estate is
worth a fortune, and it should be yours.

I remember when you were just a little girl,
you asked me why you had to learn to speak, read, and write in
English and French when all your friends were doing so only in
French. This is why, my dear. You had to be prepared to take on the
responsibility for your people.

The fact that you are reading this letter
tells me that it is possible that Mordag’s side of the family has
finally tracked us down. If my death was from other than natural
causes, this is most certainly the case.

The pressure to keep your identity hidden
has been great over the last few years. It seems that, despite my
efforts to keep you safe, they have caught up with us.

Social issues in our homeland are changing.
The time is right for you to take possession of what is yours. I
wish I had been able to see you have it all. It saddens me that you
will have to fight them alone.

Go to Edinburgh and seek out the lawyer that
has kept the family records on our behalf, Angus Ferguson. His
address in Edinburgh is enclosed. He will help you in any way you
need.

But, beware, my dear. You must keep your
identity hidden from the rest of the family until the time is
right. Your life may very well depend upon it.

Keep yourself safe, my dearest Blair. Know
that I loved you with all my heart and did my best to keep you and
what should be yours safe!

Rodaidh McDonnough

Uncle Roddy

She thought it strange that he had never used
his Scottish name, Rodaidh (RO dee), as long as she’d known him. He
had always been proud of his Gaelic heritage. Although he never
talked about it in great detail, the pride when he did was obvious.
And
McDonnough
? He had been Roddy Delamare to her throughout
their time together. That meant that she too was a McDonnough—twice
over, since she was descended from both Caena
and
Sòlas. The
family lines were coming together again, although after several
generations—Caena and Sòlas’s family line through her grandmother
and mother; Sòlas’s family line through his wife and only son.

She was finally able to put most of the
pieces together. What was it the lawyer had said? The French had
been persecuting the Scots, taking their property.

So, logically, Sòlas brought his daughter
here to safety. Knowing the French could take everything from them,
and that the McDonnough clan might be searching for him, he changed
their names. Only now in more modern times, with the persecution of
Scots long in the past, could Roddy, Sòlas’s descendent, admit to
his Scottish heritage. But since the McDonnoughs were still
searching for Sòlas’s heirs, he still could not claim the name that
was rightfully his. So many secrets—kept for so very long, she
sighed.

Putting the letter down, she realized that
her head was pounding. Rubbing her fingers in circles at her
temples, she tried to release some of the pressure that had been
growing there since she had started reading his letter.

She should be angry with him for lying to
her, she thought, but how could she be when all he had ever done
was protect her by maintaining the lies? Now he expected her to
carry on with the lies? And to what end? To take possession of some
dark, damp Scottish castle? Did she even want it? It had probably
crumbled to dust in the last two-hundred years. What had he gotten
her into?

Then she realized that dear Roddy had very
probably given his life to give her this
gift
. If it was
that important to Roddy, she would damned well do her part to
follow through. She would be damned if she would let him die in
vain! And so, the dedication to family survived.

**************************

Chapter 12: Escape to Scotland

Paris, France - May 1912

Roddy had been gone for two weeks. His
apartment had been emptied out, his belongings, other than the
things she prized most highly, the family photos, his favorite
vase, his pipe, cuttings from his plants—everything else was
gone.

She had wept until she thought she had no
more tears to shed. She was small to begin with, now she was ten
pounds lighter, her cheeks had hollowed out, her eyes were
heavy-lidded from all the weeping. She had always hated crying,
especially in front of others. She was usually a strong, young
woman, usually patient, and unfailingly slow to lose her
temper—though fiery when she did. Once her temper was riled, she
could battle with the best.

She loved the scents of Paris, the smell of
rain in the air just before it started falling, the damp air
afterward, and had always enjoyed slow, quiet journeys during which
she could soak it all in. She loved the breezes that swept through
off the Seine, the colors used by the artists on the streets, the
scents of the cafés. Everything had brought her such joy.

Now she felt shaky, unsure, weak, and alone.
Her temper flared at the slightest provocation. Only her
determination to avenge Roddy’s death and go after what he had
given his life to protect stiffened her spine these days. Enjoyment
was something she simply did not have the time for any longer.

Madame had told her to take as much time as
she needed to deal with her grief. She had avoided the shop, Madame
and Esmée, since reading the letters. She had been afraid she would
not be able to hide her secret from them. It could not be avoided
any longer.

As she walked into the shop, Madame and Esmée
watched her silently before approaching with arms open to embrace
her. The merchandise, which had always brought her so much
pleasure, now held no interest at all. This was going to be
difficult, but it had to be done. She would go to Edinburgh and
find this lawyer who knew the rest of the story. Perhaps he held
the key to what she would have to do next.

Madame was shocked to see the change in her.
She was so thin, she looked so very tired. There was a heaviness—a
weight about her spirit that had not been there before. She nearly
wept, but mustered her best smile and gave her their usual
greeting.

“I need to talk to you,” Blair told the women
who had been the closest females to her for the last three
years.

“Esmée, Chéri, please put the closed sign on
the door. Then we will go out back and talk,” Madame responded.
While Esmée closed the shop, Blair and Madame joined hands and
walked to the back of the shop, and then they stepped outside to
the patio.

Once they were seated at the table and Madame
had assured they each had a glass of white wine, Blair began. “I’m
leaving Paris for an extended time. I do not know when,” she added
softly, “or
if
I will be back.”

The women both started to interrupt her, but
once again quieted when she raised her hand. “Please, Madame,
Esmée, let me get this out. This is very difficult for me. I love
both of you so very much, and I know this hurts you, but I have to
go.” Once they agreed to remain silent, she continued.

“I have business to tend to that I cannot do
here. I cannot tell you where I am going. I only ask that you not
tell anyone that I have gone. Just tell them I left your
employment, Madame—that you have no idea where I am. Once I am
able, I will write to you. But, even then, if I ask you to keep my
whereabouts unknown, I must have your promise to do so.”

Madame was incredulous. “Can we not help you,
Blair? There must be something we can do! Oui?”

“No, Madame,” she hadn’t wanted to frighten
them, but she saw now that they would not let her go easily. “There
is danger, Madame—danger for you, for Esmée, and for me if certain
parties find out where I have gone, so I cannot tell you.”

“Why can we not…” Madame stopped herself,
suddenly realizing that she should not be arguing with the girl’s
request. “No, I am sorry, Chéri. If this is what you must do, then
you must. You are a good girl, Blair. You would not leave without a
very good reason.” Gripping Blair by the shoulders, “But I fear for
you, little one. Is there no other way, no help we can get for you?
Perhaps the police should be told?”

“No, Madame. This is a matter I cannot
discuss with anyone. Please grant me this one last favor. You have
always been so very kind to me. I would not do this if it was not
absolutely necessary. Please know that,” she said, pleading with
the woman whose eyes were now filled with tears.

“Oui, mon chéri, we will do this for you.
Esmée?”

“Yes, Madame. Yes, Blair. I promise to say
nothing,” Esmée promised with tears running down her flushed
cheeks.

It had been every bit as difficult to say
goodbye to them as she had known it would be. She had, once again,
promised to write but told them that it might be awhile before she
could do so. She could not tell them that her life could be in
danger if her letters to them were found. It was better that they
hear the whole story after-the-fact. She hoped, no—she knew—they
would forgive her.

As she walked toward her apartment she saw it
coming. Her mind almost did not allow it to register in time but
the taxi was coming straight at her. The cabbie had his hat pulled
down enough that she could not see his face. He was certainly close
enough to identify when she finally snapped out of the shock and
barely managed to jump to safety. But his was not a face she had
ever seen before.

Other pedestrians came to her rescue, shocked
at the near hit-and-run she had managed to avoid. The amazed
discussion of what the others had seen confirmed her opinion. The
taxi had been headed straight for her, intent on running her down.
It had not been in her imagination. Someone had tried to kill
her.

Her heart was racing. She would have to leave
for Edinburgh immediately. After assuring the crowd that she was
fine, she ran the rest of the way to her apartment. First she
packed her bag, and then she braced herself for another
goodbye.

She knocked on Mssr. LeGard’s door. He
answered in the old silk robe he lounged in so many mornings. His
face lit up when he saw her. “Chéri, please come in.”

She kissed his wrinkled cheeks and followed
him to the little bench in their garden. “Monsieur, I have decided
to take your advice and go on a little vacation. I may be gone for
some time, and I did not want you to worry about me.”

“Oh, bien, Chéri. It will be very good for
you! Where do you go?” he asked, as he patted her hands which were
gently gripped in his own.

“I thought I would spend some time on the
coast in Bretagne. It is lovely there in the spring,” she put her
best smile on her face. If he thought she was doing something nice
for herself, he would not argue with her.

“I am delighted for you, Chéri. Would you
like for me to water the plants for you while you are away?”

“Oui! That would be lovely, Mssr. LeGard.
Thank you!” she said, with earnest appreciation. She hated the idea
of Roddy’s plants dying.

Once she had had cookies and tea, which she
had always had to accept from the dear Mssr. LeGard, she made her
exit and went up to her apartment. She looked around the place she
loved so much. The colorful pillows tossed upon the little bed she
also used for a sofa, the reading lamp with the beautiful shade of
brightly colored pieces of glass, the brightly colored painting she
had bought from one of the artists along the Seine last summer.

With a heavy sigh, she picked up her bags and
left for what she feared might be the last time. She was able to
catch the next train to the coast.

**************************

Chapter 13: The Search for Blair

Paris, France – One Week Later

Madame and Esmée were busy with customers
when the man came in. He slowly walked around the shop, taking in
all the details in case he had to come back later. Madame noticed
the stranger as soon as he came into the shop. There was something
about him she didn’t like but, a customer is a customer, she
thought.

As she finished with her customer, she walked
toward him. He was a shaggy sort, she thought. Disreputable would
have best described him. “May I help you?” she asked in French.

“What?” Didn’t anyone here speak English, he
wondered?

“Sorry, you would prefer English?” Madame
asked switching easily.

“Ah, yes,” he responded with a thick Scottish
accent and looked most relieved. “I’m looking for Blair Delamare. I
was told she worked here.” His eyes kept flitting around the shop
nervously keeping an eye out for her.

“Oh, yes, she did work here. However, I am
sorry to say she left our employment a few days ago. We have not
seen or heard from her since,” Madame told him.

Esmée had overheard the conversation as she
walked her final customer to the door. She kept a very close eye on
the man talking to Madame until he left the shop looking fit to be
tied.

“Madame, he was looking for Blair?”

“Yes, Esmée, if this is the kind of person
asking for her, she is indeed in trouble, I fear.” Madame felt a
shiver down her back.

***

Cursing at the fates that had kept him tied
up in Edinburgh until now, he managed to break into the apartment
and found that the girl was not there—probably hadn’t been for
several days. Her tiny refrigerator was empty. Most of her dresser
drawers were empty. He moved quickly into the bathroom and saw that
all her personal items were gone. She had left. “Damn it all,” he
cursed as he slammed his fist on the edge of the sink. Then he
froze when he heard a sound coming from the main room. Slipping
behind the bathroom door, he waited.